<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>To Dwell on Death and in Possibility by EverySevenYears</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29623350">To Dwell on Death and in Possibility</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverySevenYears/pseuds/EverySevenYears'>EverySevenYears</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ratched (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, also mildred holding it together for gwen's sake, and she has a bad habit of drinking when she's upset, and she's bitter and lonely and wants to avoid confronting her problems, but her problems will confront her, gwen is scared and angsty, it all works out in the end though, or several moments, sad gays having a moment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:08:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29623350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverySevenYears/pseuds/EverySevenYears</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically Gwen's reaction and inner machinations immediately following her diagnosis and through the next day and The Kiss (TM).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To Dwell on Death and in Possibility</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TW: mentions of cancer and impending death, unhealthy alcohol consumption</p><p>a.) I know The Kiss (TM) has been done many times before but I just couldn't help myself. Also, I love Gwen and really wanted to delve into her a little more. Mildred is an angsty baby but so is Gwen.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The drive home for Gwendolyn Briggs is a blur, her mind fixated on the newly identified lump in her breast. She can't actually feel it but knowing it's there makes it seem as though she can. She hasn't cried yet. She must be in shock. Even when she pulls into her driveway and sits for a few minutes, Gwendolyn can't bring herself to cry. It's all she can do just to breathe.</p><p>But she knows she can't just sit in her car forever so she finally makes her way into the house. She locks the door behind her and wanders into the kitchen. She's not really thinking about what she's doing, instead relying on autopilot to guide her. She grabs a glass from the upper cabinet by the icebox and proceeds to fill it with cold water. After taking a few gulps she determines she needs something stronger than water and forgets the glass on the counter. Instead, the blonde woman crosses the living room to the small drink cart in the corner to fetch her trusty bottle of Kentucky Tavern bourbon and an accompanying glass. She brings them both to the dining room table and pours herself drink.</p><p>Gwendolyn quickly downs her glass and pours herself a second without hesitation. That round is gone just as quickly. She enjoys the burn in her throat. It gives her a more tangible feeling to focus on rather than the strange numbness that has settled over her. After pouring her third glass, Gwendolyn pauses, just long enough to fish a pack of cigarettes and matches out of a nearby table drawer, and proceeds to light one. She thinks for a moment about sitting down but ends up pacing back and forth in front of the window instead. It's a slow pace, borne out of uncertainty rather than anything else. A part of her worries that if she sits down, she may not find the will to stand back up. So she paces, watching the light slowly drain from the room with the slowly setting sun. Gwendolyn continues to sip her bourbon and chain smoke until she finds herself in a completely dark dining room, having neglected to turn any lights on in the first place.</p><p>She thinks fleetingly that she should probably eat something but finds the idea almost laughable. Perhaps a bath is a better idea. The woman doesn't have it in her to care about tidiness at this point so she leaves the evidence of her evening bender open on the table and carefully, (drunkenly), makes her way to her bedroom to undress. Halfway up the stairs, clutching the banister in a concerted effort not to trip, Gwendolyn startles at the shrill ringing of the telephone. She frowns, squeezing her eyes shut against the unwelcome noise. She resolves not to answer it. Whoever it is can go fuck themselves.</p><p>Gwendolyn manages to make it to her bedroom without incident and begins the methodical, slow process of undressing and drawing herself a bath in the en suite. She is drunk enough that keeping up with each task directly at hand consumes all of her concentration, for which she is grateful. If she allows her mind to wander too far in any other direction she is certain she won't like the result.</p><p>Her bath is not particularly relaxing, in and of itself. The water is perhaps a bit too hot to begin with, but a part of her relishes the way it burns as she sinks herself down into the tub. Gwendolyn spends the entirety of her time carefully and purposefully scrubbing at every inch of her skin only faltering the drag of the washcloth over her left breast for a moment. She decides not to wash her hair. Fussing with the pins she had forgotten to take out prior to sitting in the tub would take far too much effort in her current state. It's not like she has anywhere to be tomorrow. Or anyone to see. And what does it matter anyway when--?</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>Before she can dwell too long <em>that </em><span>particular train of thought, Gwendolyn drags herself back out of the tub and once again sets her focus on the simple yet meticulous process of drying off, moisturizing, and dressing for bed. Her routine is steadfast, and without thinking, Gwendolyn sits down at her vanity. </span></p><p>Somehow, she had managed to avoid her own reflection up to this point, but now, she is frozen in the face of it. She stares, unmoving. At first, it's just a blank stare. Empty. Hollow. Numb. Slowly, anger flares up within her and her blank stare is replaced with a furrowed brow, clenched jaw, and twitching nostrils. How could her body betray her like this? Now, when she thought her life couldn't get any worse. Her life was already in shambles. The Governor fired her with a “sorry you got shot” dangling as an afterthought. <em>Ha! Me too. </em><span>She thinks bitterly. At least then she would have no idea about the cancer and it could just kill her quietly. It wouldn't be one more thing to hate herself for. Instead, here she is, pathetic, drunk, and utterly alone. She left her marriage, for God's sake! For a pathological liar who probably never cared about her in the first place! </span></p><p>When she did it, she was so sure of her decision. Even if Mildred never reciprocated feelings for her, Gwendolyn knew in her bones that what she had with Trevor wasn't enough. And then it seemed the universe kept bringing them together. Like fate, if Gwendolyn believed in such a thing. Maybe this miserable, lonely picture was her fate.</p><p>
  <span>Abruptly, Gwendolyn pushes up from her seat, unable to bear glaring at herself for her own idiocy any longer. </span>
  <em>Oh, Mildred. </em>
  <span>She very suddenly feels so tired, the weight of grief taking its toll, so Gwendolyn moves to curl up on her bed in a fetal position, clutching a pillow close to her. And in that position, Gwendolyn finally begins to cry. She sobs, grotesquely, she assumes, holding tighter to that pillow than she had anything before, and she grieves. She grieves for the life she had built for herself, now nothing but a pile of rubble. She grieves for the years she wasted, hiding and lying in a fake marriage. She grieves for the life she had been so foolish to hope she could have with Mildred Ratched. She grieves for the love she'll never know and the life she'll never live. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Gwendolyn groans against the cold light of the morning sun. It was one thing she had always loved about her room, but today it mocks her. The dull headache that greets her as she reenters consciousness is equally unwelcome. For several minutes Gwendolyn remains huddled in her bed, slowly taking stock of her stiff limbs. Everything aches-- especially her heart. How do people do this? Wake up in the morning and get out of bed when you know your body is killing itself? Bitterly, she supposes other terminally ill people might have lives they still want to live. Lives that they recognize as their own. If she refused to get up, if she let herself just wither away, would anyone even notice?</p><p>A rumble in the woman's empty stomach interrupts her morning spiral. With a heavy sigh, she shakes away the thought. She's always been far too stubborn to sit around and do nothing. Even if she is going to drop dead soon. Ruefully, Gwendolyn pries herself out from beneath her duvet and ventures to the bathroom. She rifles in the medicine cabinet there for some aspirin and tries not to get derailed by her swollen eyelids and startlingly dark under eye bags. If she has to catch her reflection throughout the day looking like this, she's certain she'll have another breakdown, so Gwendolyn resolves to make up her face and tidy her hair before she journeys downstairs for her morning tea.</p><p>
  <span>Willing herself to make more than toast and tea is out of the question. She knows she needs some protein but the effort involved with cooking eggs, even, seems a bit ambitious. Trevor had always been much more of a cook than she cared to be. Gwendolyn lets out a plaintive huff at the memory of Mildred and her love of bologna. What was it she had said? </span>
  <em>Perfectly nutritious. </em>
  <span>She wouldn't have to cook it in any case. </span>
</p><p>With tea and toast in hand, Gwendolyn sits at the breakfast nook by the window. It seems strange to be eating breakfast as if it was any other day. But she has to fill her time with something and she has to start somewhere. She eats quickly, more out of habit than anything else. She had never had much time in the mornings before work. Now it seems she simultaneously has all the time in the world and yet not nearly enough. But as she finishes her toast and swallows the last sip of her tea, Gwendolyn glances around the room and the emptiness of it all weighs on her.</p><p>She can't stay here. She can't live out her days in the house she and Trevor had shared for the last three years, alone. She can't live in this town, so close to Mildred Ratched, the embodiment of all her mistakes, and miseries, and shattered dreams. She can't stay here.</p><p>So she won't.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Gwendolyn's ability to precisely execute a project with many different facets quickly, accurately, and systematically, made her an effective government servant. It also makes her an excellent packer. She spends the entirety of the rest of her morning and into the afternoon deciding what to take with her and how best to organize those things. She quickly realized she wouldn't be taking all that much with her-- just the most functional of her clothes and the jewelry that's worth anything and her favorite books. She imagines she'll be doing a lot of reading. It's easy to cut ties with the material when you know you truly can't take it with you.</p><p>In an effort to better see what she's packing away first and how, she brings her clothes to the living room and spreads things out across the furniture there. That is what she is working on when she hears a knock at the door.</p><p>She's so stunned that another person is at the door that she doesn't even know how to react to Trevor's face when she opens it. She stares at him, stunned for a moment. So he speaks first.</p><p>“May I come in, Gwenny? I was hoping we could talk.” She opens up the door for him, forcing a tight smile and attempting to make it seem somehow genuine. Trevor pauses to take off his hat and coat, then he follows her into the living room. Gwendolyn immediately resumes her business packing. She needs to keep her hands busy. “What's all this? Are you planning a vacation now that you're a single woman?” he teases lightly. Gwen can't stop the mildly perturbed sigh that escapes her lips. It's not his fault he doesn't realize.</p><p>“A permanent vacation. Back to Connecticut,” she says. She refuses to meet her husband's-- ex-husband's-- watchful gaze while she putters about the room, plucking articles of clothing off various pieces of furniture and placing them, one by one, in her suitcase.</p><p>“I'm sorry, you're doing <em>what</em>?” Trevor asks incredulously. He shifts so that he's standing more within her line of sight as she works, forcing her to look at him.</p><p>“I'm moving back home,” she repeats. “It's the only choice I have now,” she elaborates, barely, waving her hand in a gesture of resignation. Gwendolyn watches Trevor's brow furrow slightly as he processes this information. He knows about her being fired; she had told him the same day it happened. Before that, they had talked about selling the house and each finding their own place. With Gwendolyn being out of a job, Trevor agreed to let her stay at the house for as long as she needed to get back on her feet. He just didn't expect her to move across the continent.</p><p>“I think you might be overreacting,” he says finally. “You just lost your job, that's all. So moving east? Don't choose a long-term solution to a short-term problem,” he warns pointedly. Gwendolyn almost scoffs but holds it in. Her skills as a press secretary are certainly not going unused as she fires back a response that, while it is partially true on the surface, is not the truth of the matter entirely.</p><p>“Governor Wilburn is not a nice man. He's not the dirtiest there is, but he's not the cleanest either.” Gwendolyn eyes Trevor with an equally pointed look and grabs another blazer, fiddling with its hanger momentarily. “The second I get close to a job with another elected, he'll threaten them, or make up lies about me.” She is certain of it. “My only chance for a job in politics is to go back east, far away from him.” Not that she's actually trying to get another job at this point. Why bother when... Gwendolyn shoves the thought back further below the surface and instead watches Trevor cross through the room to inspect the books she has set upon the mantel with vague curiosity. She is in the process of folding one of her favorite silk scarves when their eyes meet. She quickly looks down, feeling tears beginning to brim. Trevor must have noticed both that and her slumping shoulders as he sets the book in his hands down and approaches his beloved friend.</p><p>“Oh, my darling,” he coos sympathetically, taking Gwendolyn's hands. The term of endearment is second-nature after three years of marriage.</p><p>“Ex-darling,” she corrects with half a smile. Humor does little to hide her pain. Or his, clearly, seeing his fond, teary expression mimicking her own. She clutches his hands, relishing what it's like to hold them, probably for the last time. And as that thought hits her, she can't look away from him. This may truly be the last time she ever sees Trevor. Her best friend. A man who has stood by her and supported her and all her ambitions for so many years. She watches as he takes a deep breath, on the precipice of saying something important.</p><p>“Gwendolyn,” he begins, struggling to steady his voice. “<em>I will miss you</em>.” He injects so much feeling into each word, bringing her knuckles up to his lips for an affectionate kiss, and Gwendolyn can't tear her eyes away. She doesn't trust herself to speak, so she simply waits, knowing Trevor has more to say. “I'm sorry about the things I said when it ended. That was-- that was not my finest hour. I was hurt--,”</p><p>“Trevor, Trevor--,” she goes to stop him, shaking her head. She knows. She knows he didn't mean it.</p><p>“<span>No,” he says a little more forcefully so as to not be derailed. “Let me say this. I was hurt. Because I did love you so much. I </span><em>do.</em><span>” Gwendolyn watches, holding his watery gaze as a single tear hangs precariously on his lower lashes. It's all she can do not to burst into tears herself. But then, she supposes, perhaps this is the kind of final farewell she deserves. And who is she to take that from him? “But, as per absolutely always,” Trevor continues. “You were right. There is a </span><em>better</em><span> life out there for the both of us.” She can no longer hold his gaze, glancing downward. Mildred flashes to the forefront of her mind for a moment before Gwendolyn shoves her back down again. “I met-- I met a wonderful man, Gwen.” </span><em>Mildred. </em><span>“His name is Andrew.” </span><em>Mildred. </em><span>“And he is just, </span><em>everything </em><span>I thought I couldn't have.” </span><em>Mildred. </em><span>“So I owe you for him.”</span> <span>She forces herself to nod at his words and pulls Trevor in for a quick hug to hide her quickly crumbling facade. </span></p><p>“<span>Oh, I'm so glad. I'm so glad.” She can't convince herself of the sentiment but maybe it will fool him. Not that she's not happy for him. She just can't feel any joy over the grief slamming into her. She pulls away and makes a b-line for the mantle behind Trevor, reaching for her glass of water and taking a sip. It's a desperate attempt to steady herself. </span><em>God</em><span>, she wants to tell him. She wants to beg him to stay. But she did this. And now he's happy with another man and she is going to die alone. </span></p><p>“Wherever you end up, whatever you need,” she hears Trevor say. She turns back to meet his gaze again, glass in hand. “I will always be there for you. And I will always love you.” Once again, she cannot trust herself to speak. She raises her glass in a farewell toast with an arched brow and a half smirk that is almost trademark Gwendolyn. If not for the fact that her heart is shattering. The two hold each others' gaze for only a moment more before Trevor turns and walks back to the front door. With a single glace back to her, Trevor grabs his coat, places his hat upon his head, and takes his leave.</p><p>Gwendolyn stares at the door for what seems like an eternity. It isn't until dizziness forces her to brace herself on the mantle once more that she realizes she had been holding her breath. For what, she's not sure. At this moment, the only thing that she is sure about is that she wants to scream. She wants to sob. She wants to collapse in a heap on the floor and continue to sink into the carpet until she ceases to exist. But she can't do that, because she has to finish packing.</p><p>She can't do that, because there's a knock at the door.</p><p>Rather, another knock. Surely it must be Trevor having forgotten something. He would lose his head if it wasn't attached. Hopefully Andrew will be as good at keeping him together as Gwendolyn has been. Better, even.</p><p>Gwendolyn's political poker face serves her well when she opens the door to see none other than Mildred Ratched. Wearing that same lovely blush pink blouse from their first outing together, no less. Mildred looks as though she's fighting to hold back a smile. Rage bubbles up within the older woman but she wills herself to remain stoic.</p><p>“I was hoping we could talk,” Mildred says sweetly. That's the second time Gwendolyn has heard that phrase uttered towards her in the last 10 minutes. A part of her wants to slam the door in the younger woman's face. Repay Mildred for some of the coldness that she had afforded to her that night at the motel. But then the brunette's eyes are so hopeful, seemingly so genuine. Gwendolyn fights with herself for a few seconds before stepping aside and gesturing for Mildred to enter.</p><p>As soon as Mildred is out of the way, Gwendolyn closes the front door, perhaps a little too harshly. But at this point, she's so tired. And she's so angry. And she couldn't take her anger out on Trevor, but she most certainly can take it out on Mildred.</p><p>She watches Mildred step cautiously into the living room, gaze flickering across the room. She looks as though she wants to ask the blonde about the trunk laying open on the chair but doesn't.</p><p>“Have a seat,” Gwendolyn says plainly. She gestures toward the couch. Mildred's eyes follow her hand and she gracefully complies. Gwendolyn moves to stand opposite Mildred, regarding her coolly. She sits on the edge of the cushion, back straight, hands clasped together in her lap. Ever the picture of composure and control. Of beauty.</p><p>
  <em>God damn it.</em>
</p><p>“How did you find me?” Gwendolyn asks, determined to keep her wandering thoughts leashed. She notices the woman falter slightly, perhaps contemplating yet another lie.</p><p>“As a government employee, your address was a matter of record,” she explains. “I made a few telephone calls.”</p><p>“And so you though it would be prudent to show up at my doorstep, unannounced?”</p><p>“You checked out of the Motel,” Mildred offers gently. “I tried to telephone you.” Ah. So that was the phone call she chose to ignore last night. Good call. Gwendolyn can no longer contain herself and words just come tumbling out before she can think better of it.</p><p>“<span>The governor's fired me, Mildred. My career is over. I'm going home to Connecticut to live with my mother. Maybe I can get a job at the Five and Dime.” She watches Mildred's expression shift to something akin to shock and confusion. “May I offer you some tea?” Gwen adds, sarcasm plain in her false smile and raised eyebrow. </span></p><p>Mildred searches for a proper response.</p><p>“I would love some, thank you.” Well. She thought it was plain. Gwendolyn shifts impatiently, her pain and anger finally coming to the surface. If she doesn't say what she needs to say now, she will never get another chance. And really, truly, she has nothing left to lose.</p><p>“You lied to me from the very beginning. You used me as a way to keep your brother alive.”</p><p>“I didn't lie to you.” Mildred stands to meet Gwendolyn on her level. “I just-- I couldn't tell you everything right away.” She takes a step toward her. Gwendolyn takes a step back in return, arms crossed defensively.</p><p>“<span>Mildred! You lied!” Gwendolyn doesn't often raise her voice, but God help her, she's never felt quite like this before. “Until the lie didn't serve you anymore, </span><em>then </em><span>you decided to tell the truth.” Gwendolyn has to make Mildred understand. Has to make her comprehend the pain she has inflicted. “And I understand that the world has not been kind to you, and I am sorry for that, I truly am. But that does not give you the right to dissemble at every possible opportunity to the people around you whose only mistake was to care about you.” </span></p><p>“I know that.” Mildred takes another step forward and reaches for the blonde's face with both hands. Gwendolyn immediately takes another step back to maintain the distance between them.</p><p>“Do you?” she exclaims incredulously. “Because I honestly don't think that you do.”</p><p>“My feelings for you are real,” Mildred insists. She reaches to hold Gwendolyn's face once more and her fingers do brush against the skin of the older woman's cheeks before Gwendolyn grasps Mildred's wrists to pull her away.</p><p>“I don't think,” Gwendolyn pauses to determine how to finish her statement. Her first instinct is to say that she doesn't think Mildred's feelings are real. But God, she doesn't want that to be true. So what she says instead is, “you have any idea what you feelings are. Because you have been lying for <em>so</em> long. It's second-nature to you.” She almost scoffs. “You even lie to yourself. Well, your lying? And your selfishness? Have <em>cost</em> me,” her voice loses its strength as she chokes out the words. “<em>Everything!</em>”</p><p>But now that she's started, she can't stop. This is her chance, her only chance, to say what needs to be said. If she doesn't, it might just kill her before the cancer does. She can't take this to her grave. She just can't. Not after everything.</p><p>“I don't know what my life is anymore!” Gwendolyn puts more space between herself and the woman that has haunted her since they met. She finds herself reaching once again for the mantle over the fireplace for support, some sort of tether. Mildred simply watches with watery eyes, hands now clasped in front of her. “I don't understand how I got so...” Gwen gestures vaguely with her free hand, “tangled up in you.” That same hand comes to settle on her hip, bordering on indignant.</p><p>Mildred closes the space between them again, taking the few steps to meet Gwendolyn at the mantle.</p><p>“And I don't understand whether my feelings for you are real. And you waltzed into my heart, and I cannot get you out,” Gwen confesses. She regards the brunette, having bared her pain.</p><p>“Gwendolyn,” Mildred starts. She touches Gwendolyn's hand tethering her to the mantle and strokes up the exposed skin of her forearm to where her sleeves are rolled up. And her touch is so soft, so gentle. It's just a scrap of the comfort Gwen truly wants from her, and yet is infinitely more than she could have allowed herself to hope for. So she doesn't stop her. “I love you.”</p><p>Gwendolyn jerks her arm away as if she has been burned. Her face contorts with another wave of pain and anger, tears threatening to fall through her lashes. She takes several more steps back, walking almost clear across the room as she grapples with a response that could even begin to cover how Mildred's statement has made her feel. Betrayed. Used. Stupid. Gullible. She points at Mildred as if accusing her of something, but still, the words escape her.</p><p>“I don't even know what I am supposed to say to that,” is the phrase she settles with. “And anyway,” Gwendolyn continues with more conviction. “<em>I don't believe you!</em>”</p><p>Mildred stays by the mantel, tears sliding down her cheeks. Gwendolyn stares her down, watching as Mildred, in trademark fashion, visibly braces herself before her response.</p><p>“What I kept from you,” Mildred begins, voice wavering. Her gaze shifts from the floor to Gwendolyn's face. “That was not <em>easy </em>for me to do. I wanted to tell you everything!” It's a pleading declaration. One that Gwendolyn meets with tight lips, skeptical eyes, and hands on her hips. “And I understand how awful that would make you feel, how <em>used </em>you must have felt.” She pauses as though she thinks Gwendolyn might say something.</p><p>Gwendolyn can't say anything. There's nothing for her <em>to </em>say. So she waits, harshly holding Mildred's gaze. Waiting for... more? Or waiting for the younger woman to drop her act that she's so carefully crafted to convince herself of the validity of her own narrative.</p><p>“The lies I told to get into that hospital, to get closer to Edmund...” It's almost a knee-jerk reaction when Gwendolyn looks away at the mention of his name. The root of every single lie that has led her to this very moment. “Those were amoral acts, and I understand that completely.” <em>Well, at least she can admit that much. </em>“But you <em>must</em> understand that <em>I had no choice</em>. And if I had to, I <em>would</em> do it all over again.” Mildred approaches Gwendolyn once more with her last statement, her conviction as evident as her eyes are brown.</p><p>It is enough to give Gwendolyn pause. <em>That </em>is her Mildred.</p><p>She leans back just a little when faced with Mildred's soft, pleading gaze, She's so close Gwen can smell her perfume. Something sweet and fruity, soft and understated. And she doesn't have the strength to keep running away when all she wants is to melt into her. And then Mildred's hands are on her face again all she can do is settle into them.</p><p>“I wish you could leave the pain I've caused behind us,” Mildred pleads. “Let go of the resentment, the suspicion. My feelings for you are the <em>truest </em>thing in me. I love you, do you hear me? I love you.” Mildred's face is so close to hers, she can almost taste her breath and she most certainly can't think straight. The air hangs between them for a few moments and Gwendolyn holds those moments in her mind, committing them to memory. Committing <em>her</em> to memory. But then Mildred opens her mouth again.</p><p>“Dr. Hanover is dead.”</p><p>“He's--,” her heart drops and Gwendolyn locks her fingers around Mildred's wrists, pulling her hands away from her face again.</p><p>“Please, tell me-- tell me you didn't...” Gwendolyn pleads, barely above a whisper. She suddenly feels very dizzy. This can't be happening.</p><p>“No! No.” Mildred lets out a small chuckle. “No, I had nothing to do with it,” she reassures, bringing her hands back to hold Gwendolyn's face, looking her in the eye. The relief that washes over Gwendolyn is absurd. “But as a result I have come into some money.”</p><p>Gwendolyn pulls away again, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to concentrate.</p><p>“I don't want to hear what I'm sure are all the sordid particulars.” She shifts and dodges Mildred's reaching hands.</p><p>“Gwendolyn, it means-- it means we can run away together, you and--”</p><p>“And my answer to you, Mildred, is no.” Gwendolyn has to stop her. She can't bear to hear Mildred finish her statement. What she wouldn't give to run away with this woman... But it's just not in the cards for her. Not anymore. No matter how desperately she wants it. “That is not what my life is going to be.”</p><p>“<em>Our </em>life,” Mildred corrects with such innocent optimism.</p><p>“It is not,” Gwendolyn persists. The two women are talking over one another.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Alright? Do you hear me? That is not what my life is going to be!”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“It just isn't!”</p><p>“<em>Why</em>?” Mildred insists, brows furrowed, demanding.</p><p>“Because I had an x-ray yesterday!” Gwendolyn finally concedes. She didn't want anyone to know. Especially not Mildred Ratched. She wanted to move away and die in peace. Or alone, rather. That's the same thing isn't it? But it's too late now. “The doctor wanted to see how my lung was healing, and he found a tumor the size of a walnut inside my left breast.”</p><p>“What?” And there it is. Mildred Ratched stunned out of conviction.</p><p>“And I don't have long.”</p><p>There is only the slightest pause.</p><p>“We will find someone,” Mildred says, all gentle determination.</p><p>“We?” Gwendolyn can't keep the heartbreak from her voice. Mildred can't be serious. She can't know what she's saying. Clearly, she doesn't understand that there simply can't be a “we”. Even if there could be, “we” could only be for six months at best.</p><p>“Yes, we. You have to--,”</p><p>“No,” Gwendolyn nearly sobs. “You have to stop!”</p><p>“Listen to me, God damn it!”</p><p>“<em>You have to stop</em>!” Gwendolyn cries, begs. “<em>There is nothing that anyone can do</em>!” She can't hear another hopeful demand fall from Mildred's sweet, optimistic lips. The woman's child-like hope is devastating.</p><p>“Okay. Okay,” Mildred whispers, taken slightly aback by Gwendolyn's outburst. Then her hands are on either side of Gwendolyn's face again, soothing, grounding. And Gwendolyn's heart is shattering because this is the woman she loves. Gwendolyn <em>loves </em>her. And she's so tired of being strong for the sake of attempting to protect herself. And she can't keep herself from crying as she stares into Mildred's warm brown eyes. Mildred is crying too, but her gaze holds a determination that Gwendolyn can't fathom.</p><p>“Okay,” Mildred continues softly, but intently. “I'm going to find someone. A doctor. We have all the money in the world. We will go to the ends of the Earth if we have to. I love you, do you hear me? I will not lose you.”</p><p>And <em><span>oh</span></em><span>, it's just all too much. </span></p><p>“Oh, Mildred...” Gwendolyn whispers, her voice wavering. “I love you.”</p><p><span>“I love you,” Mildred echos back, and the air seems so thick between them. Gwendolyn cradles Mildred's jaw in one hand, nearly brushing her thumb over the woman's lower lip. She notices Mildred's gaze flit from her eyes to her lips and back again, and the need to kiss the wide-eyed woman before her surges. Gwendolyn, in turn, stares at slightly parted lips, yet hesitant to make the first move, still afraid of startling Mildred away like a baby deer at the sound of trouble in the underbrush. But then she feels a slight, almost imperceptible tug at the collar of her shirt, a silent request. And that's all the confirmation she needs, because if she's going to die, she's going to die having kissed the woman she loves at least once, God damn it. </span><br/>
<br/>
Gwendolyn claims Mildred's mouth with her own and it steals her breath away. But when the kiss breaks and both women gasp quick inhales before diving back into each other, Gwendolyn feels as though this is the first real breath she has taken her entire life. And every doubt she had about the legitimacy of Mildred's feelings for her evaporate with the passion infused in the woman's tongue as it slides against her own.</p><p>She pulls Mildred closer into her by her neck, relishing the silky brush of the woman's tresses against her fingertips. Mildred responds by wrapping her arms around Gwendolyn's waist, pressing their bodies together. Years of unfulfilling one-night-stands once a month never could have prepared Gwendolyn for this, finally being held and kissed by the woman who has haunted her nearly every waking moment for weeks. It is almost a religious experience, or what she imagines a religious experience must be like for someone who cares for that sort of thing. Gwendolyn has never cared much for a God who deems her love a sin. But this? Tasting Mildred's lips mixed with her tears? Feeling Mildred grapple at her waist and consume her in turn? This is a confessional. And Gwendolyn can't help the hunger that warms within her at the thought of truly worshiping the undeniably divine being that is Mildred Ratched.</p><p>After a minute or so, hungry kisses slow, becoming gentler and sweeter until finally Gwen rests her forehead against Mildred's.</p><p>Reality creeps back in.</p><p>“Mildred?” she says quietly. She doesn't want to shatter the high buzzing between them but she needs to say this.</p><p>“Yes?” Mildred responds with more contentment than Gwendolyn has ever heard her possess. It almost makes her swallow down her next words. Almost.</p><p>“I'm scared.” The words fall from her lips in a broken whisper and another tear finds its way past her lash line. She feels Mildred tense slightly but she doesn't pull away. If anything, the brunette just holds her tighter.</p><p>“I know,” she says gently. “I am too.”</p><p>“It's cruel.”</p><p>“Life is cruel.” The darkness tinging Mildred's tone serves as a reminder to Gwendolyn of just how cruel this life has been to the nurse. Mildred pulls back and brings a hand up to brush her knuckles along Gwendolyn's cheek. “But we will face it together.” The steeled optimism seeps back into her voice. “If you'll have me,” she adds with a hint of a smile playing on the corners of her lips.</p><p>Gwendolyn meets Mildred's gaze and a soft crooked smile graces her own features.</p><p>“I would love nothing more,” she says. It feels as though the weight of the world has been lifted off her shoulders. Mildred smiles a hundred-watt smile that Gwendolyn is sure is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. Mildred leans into Gwendolyn for another kiss which Gwendolyn eagerly accommodates. And it's tender, and comforting, and everything she had ever hoped for.</p><p>Mildred pulls away from the kiss first, leaving Gwendolyn to stop herself from searching for more. Mildred gazes fondly at her and swipes a thumb firmly below her lower lip and up to the corner with a shy laugh.</p><p>“Oh, do I have something on my face?” Gwendolyn quips with an amused smirk. The way Mildred bites her lip makes Gwendolyn want to take her right there in the living room. But she knows she can't do that. Mildred leans in to kiss her again and Gwendolyn happily obliges. She savors a few more moments of tender bliss in the feeling and taste of Mildred on her tongue before she pulls away, placing a stilling palm gently against the other woman's chest.</p><p>Oh, how she wants to feel Mildred's skin beneath every single one of her fingertips.</p><p>“Maybe we should get cleaned up?” Gwendolyn suggests hesitantly. She hopes the brunette does not take it as a rejection. Gwendolyn feels Mildred tense and can almost see the gears turning in the younger woman's mind for a few seconds as if calculating the most appropriate reaction.</p><p>Gwendolyn isn't sure how she feels about that. But then Mildred softens again.</p><p>“Right. Of course,” she agrees. Mildred takes a small step back and runs her hands down Gwendolyn's arms affectionately. “Could I use your washroom?” she asks shyly, a hint of a blush reaching her cheeks.</p><p>“Yes, of course! Around the corner, by the stairs, darling. You can't miss it.” Gwendolyn forces herself to refrain from backpedaling when she realizes what she's just said, and instead, waits for Mildred's reaction.</p><p>“Thank you,” Mildred says with a gentle smile. “I'll only be a moment.” She steps away and towards the restroom without a comment about Gwendolyn's previous choice of words.</p><p>“Take your time,” Gwendolyn murmurs.</p><p>As soon as she hears the washroom door shut, Gwendolyn lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding and presses a shaky palm against her cheek. It's a nervous gesture as she stands idle in her living room, suddenly uncertain of what to do with herself. She eyes the open trunk on the chair and the remaining clothes laying across the furniture. She'll have to deal with that later, she supposes. For now, she shakes away her nerves and goes into the kitchen. She wets a rag at the sink then borrows the mirror on the dining room wall to clean the lipstick smears off her face. Gwendolyn can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of her lips. The first genuine smile that's graced her features in some time.</p><p>She is still absolutely petrified of the illness inside her and what that means for her and Mildred. Everything is still so uncertain. Everything except how she feels about Mildred and how kissing her made her feel more awake and alive than she's felt in years. So she resolves to make the most of the time she has left, be that one month, or six, or twelve. Anything less would be a gross disservice to herself and to Mildred. Optimistic, determined, beautiful, haunted, vulnerable, complicated, utterly intoxicating <em>Mildred</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>b.) I am seriously considering doing another (probably smutty) chapter. If/when I do, I'll update the tags and rating. </p><p>c.) This is the first fic I've written in a very long time and the first I've written for these lovely ladies (it's about damn time). So please be kind. All kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.</p><p>d.) UPDATE I've decided not to add a second chapter to this because the way I am writing what I intended to be the second chapter makes more sense as its own one shot. I will likely make a series to connect both the works instead.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>